


Drowning in Misery

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Corpse Decomposition, Corpse Desecration, Corpse Horror, Dehumanization, Gen, Graphic Beheading with Knife, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Torture, Horror, Insanity, Long-Term Torture, Maggots in both Living and Dead Flesh, Marked Non-con for Semen Slinging on Prisoners as Degradation, Mercy Killing, Non-Consensual Tattooing, Nudity For Humiliation, Remember in Lord of the Rings where Orcs Threw Heads Over the Wall?, Unhappy Ending, knife torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Maul actually puts some effort into his revenge plans for Obi-Wan and his Duchess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings. It's been a while since I last posted something this hard core. Pause for a moment, breathe, and ask yourself if “Details of Revenge” was good for you. Now keep in mind that had an afterword that sort of edged into a bizarre Fix-it AU territory. This one won't have that.
> 
> I mean the tags. If you suspect they will not make your day better, please wait to read my writing until the next “More Machine Than Man” chapter, which is next in the queue. Force knows I never expected that one to turn into a hurt/comfort story.

 

“I have loved you always.”

Obi-Wan could feel her pain, feel her life draining drop by drop.

But what was clearer still was the defiance in Satine's eyes. “I always will.”  
And then she was in his arms but _gone,_ her body an abandoned husk.

Obi-Wan bowed his head, enduring the agony of loss ripping through his soul.

No sound escaped him as he knelt there, cradling the fallen warrior.

_I need you. I need your mind. Help me, please. I cannot— I cannot submit. I must get out of here. Help me get out of here._

He could sense Maul's hunger, his delight, and yes,  _shock._

Maul had underestimated how much pain this would cause.

He wanted a repeat of Qui-Gon.

In the end, he'd inflicted something so much worse.

_“Maul will desecrate the body in any way he can think of.”_

The knowledge whispered up from within him, his mind using Satine's voice because that was what he needed in this moment.

_“He will use it to try to break you.”_

Yes.

Yes, he would.

_“A body is the skin you did not choose. A roll of a chance cube. He does not have her armor, Obi-Wan. The expression of her soul is safe. Give her all the rites she needs.”_

Knowing he would be stopped if he spoke aloud, he crouched over her body and breathed within his soul the words,  _Sleep in peace, child of Mandalore. Not gone; merely marching far away. You've died; I live. I remember you, therefore you are eternal._

He repeated them again, this time in Mando'a.

_Nothing can touch you now._ He reached for the lock of bloodied hair that had fallen loose to stick to her forehead, tucked it back behind her ear.  _Nothing he does can harm you further. I am the only one he can hurt now._

_“His first goal will be to make you forget that. He will try to stretch my moment of suffering into eternity. Do what you must to guard against it now.”_

_I release you from this pelgam. Escape, dear one. The Force welcomes you._

He lifted her hand, gripped so tight in his own.

He pressed his lips to its battered skin, allowing one final embrace.

_With this kiss, you are no longer you. This form is now simply an abandoned house that will be used against me._

She'd used precious breath to urge him to resist the darkness that reached for him, desiring him for its own. Breath she could ill spare at the time.

_Whatever he does, none of it can desecrate you unless_ I  _cast away your final request._

_That is a choice. It is mine._

_I will die before I betray that final request._

_“You are ready.”_

“Do we kill him now, brother?” he heard Savage ask.

Obi-Wan lowered the corpse to the floor, placing the hands carefully down.

His lips had betrayed him, at the end. They still would not move.

He did not know why; he'd been able to speak for Qui-Gon's death.

_“This, too, will he attempt to use against you. He will accuse you of not telling her you loved her.”  
But I didn't. I couldn't find air, I couldn't speak, I couldn't—_

_“Did she need words to read a man, Mando'ad? Would she not have read the anguish in your eyes, the gentleness in your arms, the crushing grip of her hand in yours, the way you melted into her fingers as she held your face one last time? Trust in the warrioress who always met you where you collapsed._

_“She knew.”_

“No,” Maul crooned, delighted.

Obi-Wan refused to spare him a glance.

He wanted to remember every line, every tone, every whisper.

_“This moment is yours. She took it away from him, and Maul does not even know. It was her final gift. Where is its beauty?”  
_ “Imprison him below. Let him drown in his misery,” Maul pronounced, words soft.

They nearly distracted Obi-Wan—

_“What is her gift to you?”  
Her gift was her death._

_“How?”_

_She made it not about Maul. She ignored him completely._

_“Where is its beauty?”_

Obi-Wan found himself hauled to his feet, his twisted ankle giving a sharp pain and his battered head throbbing from the violent blows earlier.  _No. Don't make me leave her._

_“Is it her anymore?”_

_No._

_“How do you fight for her now?”  
Not letting him win._

_“Conserve your strength now.”_

He did not resist as the red-armored betrayer guided him down the long glass receiving hall.

_“Where is the beauty in her death? Focus, jetii. Stay here. Not out there with them. In here.”  
She was not afraid._

_“Yes. And?”_

_She said exactly what she wanted to say._

_“Yes. And?”_

_She died fighting for her people, for Mandalore's future. She fought in every way her conscience allowed._

_“Yes. And?”  
To die for Mandalore was a thought that lit her eyes with joy when I first met her. She would speak of it and the sun would glow in her hair, the fervor of it lending a radiance to her face. I thought her mad._

_“Was she?”  
Perhaps. But I found I did not care._

_“Do you fear death, Jetii loved by a Mando'ad?”_

_No._

_“What then do you fear?”_

_I fear Maul._

_“Why?”_

_I will break. I will break as I did that day with Qui-Gon, and again when Maul taunted me with Qui-Gon's memory months ago._

_“Have you broken yet?”_

_No._

_“And you will not.”  
_ Obi-Wan stumbled to his knees on the speeder as merciless hands shoved him, heavy boots kicking in his knees.

_How would you know? Between Sith and Mandalorian, we have everything needed to break a Jedi._

_“Ah. But not_ her  _Jedi.”_

_Why not? Give me one good reason to think I will survive this._

_“You don't have to survive. All you have to do is endure.”_

_Forgive me, Satine, but I cannot._

A low laugh. His mind was  _laughing_ at him now, with the voice of the dead.

_“She died for Mandalore. For what she believed in. Are you so loathe to suffer for Mandalore? To perhaps die for her as well? For what_ you  _believe in?”_

A calm settled over his soul.

_“Is martyrdom by her side so terrible a fate, Obi-Wan Kenobi? The man entranced by the killer lurking in the eyes of a woman of peace? It is not even the first time you have been tortured for Mandalore's sake.”_

Obi-Wan looked out at the silent houses of glass, at what Satine's tears and sheer hard work had accomplished.

_“You saw the content in her eyes in that last moment. To die by your side, for Mandalore? Did you sense bitterness in her soul?”_

_None._

_“She chose to make her death her own. She did not die for a madman who chose her at random from those dearest to your heart._

_“She chose to die for Mandalore.”_

Obi-Wan saw the flash of golden hair, the cold precision in blue eyes as she leveled her blaster for one of their unconscious pursuers. The way his heart had bolted into his throat as he begged her not to murder a man in cold blood.

Her confusion.

Her thirst.

His bafflement when she chose, at the end of the war, a path of complete nonviolence.

The scent of her hand. The passion in her soul.

The fire, barely restrained, but made to bend the knee to her will.

Such power as the Padawan had never seen in his life.

Not power over others, a thing so many people could gain with a simple blaster or bomb, but power over  _herself._

_For your people I will suffer, because you loved them. You loved them more than blood and life itself. You did not resent your death._

_“It may take longer, Jetii, but dying back-to-back with her for Mandalore?”_

The gates of the prison opened and he found himself shoved through them, down countless hallways.

_“Left. Left. Right. Down seven floors.”  
_ He roused himself to take an interest in the map being constructed in his mind.

_“If you get a chance to take out any of them with you, it will be that many fewer those who reclaim Mandalore will have to battle through. Breathe, Jetii.”_

He obeyed.

He tested his command of the Force again, wanting to make his stand  _now—_

But the injuries dealt by the crash, by Maul were still too overpowering. He could command it only to sense things closest to him.

Helpless.

Just like in the throne room.

Just like on Naboo, twelve years ago.

_Except then I suffered for a planet I did not know._

He'd spent a year learning this land's secrets, living with a young woman who stared in open wonder up into the skies, down into the hearts of flowers, who taught him how to merge with Mandalore's soul.

_You're wounded. Battle scarred. The forests are gone. The flowers extinct, along with most of the animals. Satine was right to fight back in as vicious a way as she knew how, killing the thing that destroyed you._

_War._

_She had her revenge._

_This is a new fight, but an old, old one too._

They shoved him into a small cell, the door locking and the lights in the glass dimming until the walls, floor, ceiling, and door reflected his face back to him in shades of black.

All sound from the outside faded until he could almost hear the hissing of molecules in his ears.

He limped to the center of the floor, sat, dragged his legs into as close an approximation of being crossed as their injuries would allow, rested his equally battered hands on his knees, squared his shoulders, bowed his head, closed his eyes.

_“The pain. What is it for?”_

He called the scent of forest to his memory. The wild songs of birds.

His hand against the bare dirt, feeling the hum of the planet beneath him that was uniquely Manda'yaim.

He called to it now, with what little strength he had left.  _You have endured much. Allow me to bear a little._

He remained where he sat until the last of the desperation had faded from his soul. The last of the soul-ripping claustrophobia.

_“It will be back, with redoubled strength next time. What will you do to prepare?”_

_Make a plan._

A low laugh echoed through his mind.  _“You learned, Jetii. You learned. Now. What now?”_

_Sleep. Sleep while I can, for as many minutes as I'm allowed._

_“And do what with the pain you already have?”_

_Face it. If I ignore it until the last minute, I break._

_“Well done.”_

He dragged his body across the floor to the sleep shelf, just now realizing  _how_ damaged his legs truly were. Fractured, swollen, cut, burned, bruised—

The adrenaline was fading away, allowing them to shriek at him.

He hissed in pain as he maneuvered himself onto the cold, unyielding bed.

_“What do you need to do now?”  
The plan first._

_“Then?”_

_Find all of the pains, and see them as individuals._

_“Begin.”_

_No solitary escape plan will succeed with my legs in this condition. If I make an attempt now and end up re-caught, it will be more difficult on the second try._

_I will wait and see if they continue to re-injure them._

_If they do, we will have to reevaluate what to do._

_Otherwise, patience will serve me best._

_“So what should you use your energy in this moment for?”_

_Not coming up with wild and useless extravagant plans. Pain mapping._

_“Begin.”_

He started with his left big toe, focusing on it and listening for any injuries. He worked his way across his foot and up his leg, then the other leg, up his body. He discovered wounds he hadn't realized he'd gained.

There were different kinds of pain.

The ankle felt swollen and throbbed. The fracture farther up the bone felt like fire. In his head there were a few different ones. The hammer's drumbeat left over by Zigoola, brought to the surface again by grief. The sting of the scrape on his cheek from being thrown from the exploding ship. The vicious knife stabbing into his head every second like chronowork where a Mando had slammed the butt of their blaster when he tried to save Satine from the dark saber.

_“What will serve you best here?”  
I cannot heal. I cannot command the Force so far._

_“What will help the most, then?”_

_Compassion towards my body. It has suffered as much as my mind has. Intentionally relaxing each muscle group and my mind. Rest is all I can offer it right now._

_“And your mind? Are you ready to discover the extent of its wounds?”_

Obi-Wan's breath hitched.  _No. No, I'm not._

_“To refuse is to hand Maul the next move.”_

So squeezing his eyes shut, the pain of his body loud in his ears, Obi-Wan turned inward.

_“One at a time. Isolate. Each deserves its moment of attention.”  
_ Time fell away, meaningless, as Obi-Wan faced each soul wound. He worked around his heart, greeting each one and giving it his full attention for a moment. Looking various guilts in the eye and measuring them against the quiet logic he knew Satine would offer were she here.

He banished the ones that were left over from his confidence struggles.

Those that might have legitimacy he held out a bloody hand to.

_You will be my companions in this cell._

He knew who they were. He knew their faces.

He knew they would try to usurp him when they saw him at his lowest.

He located his anger. Saw how it salivated for his wounds.

_I see you._

The potential for self-destruction that resided in all beings, just waiting for a chance to grow was certainly not a curse he'd been exempt from.

_You had your chance in the throne room. But give it a few days, and you will try again. You love this cell._

A faint smile touched Obi-Wan's lips.

If anyone was watching surveillance footage, they probably thought him mad.

_But so was the darling of my soul._

Madness was not so terrible a thing, if it could be made to serve your will.

He'd seen them. All of them. The injuries. He knew which ones were most severe, which likely to fester, which he would need to extract shrapnel from after he had slept.

Now for the final one.

He turned to look.

_There you are,_ he thought as tears flooded his eyes, escaping his clenched lashes and a torn sob choked through his chest.

He wasn't sure he could survive this one.

_But survival isn't necessary._

The thought gave him the courage to step closer.

_I need to finish my inventory. That is what I_ can  _do, what is most important now._

The emptiness of the universe at the loss of so full a life, twisted, perhaps, but kind and true in spite of it. His soul keened against that loss, the silence of a song that had guarded his soul for nineteen years. Through the worst moments of his life, it had been there to hold him up, to keep his head above water.

_But you were not_ mine.

_The Force allowed us to walk hand-in-hand for a time, and now the Force has called you home._

The emptiness in his palm hurt like a fire all its own, but he had always held with an open hand.

_I was not entitled to you. I treasured you while you were here, and you knew it. We knew it could end at any time, and we made the most of what we had._

Words, passed down from Jedi to Jedi from time immemorable whispered through his mind, this time in Qui-Gon's voice.

_“In grief alone there is no danger.”_

The pain here in this moment? That was his.

_“How does a Jedi handle pain?”_

_Accepting it exists. Looking it in the face. Asking the body to heal, and giving it patience until it does._

_And learning to live with the wounds that never heal fully properly._

He could hear his quiet cries, feel the scalding of his tears.

_The heart's blood, she called them. Your body bleeds when wounded. Why would the mind not be the same? There is no shame in blood._

Not even if a Sith lord saw and mocked.

_I miss you. I miss you already, I will always miss you—_

_“Yes.”_

_Please, no._

_“This is a new companion for you. Look it in the face.”_

_I cannot._

_“It will destroy you if you do not come to terms with it.”_

_Let it do so._

For a long moment the pain trounced him. He was no longer seeking to take its measure, he found himself drowning, unable to see  _anything—_

_“You have found her. Look her in the eyes now. See her power. Feel this pain. Stop fighting it.”_

_I'm not._

_“But you are. Your body is tense. Relax into it.”_

_It hurts too much._

_“I know.”  
_ Obi-Wan stared into the yawning chasm of his heartbreak.  _I'm looking. It's put fault lines and cracks into every part of me. Another strike, and I'm going to shatter._

_“When does a blade shatter?”_

_When it's too hard. When there's no give. When it's not flexible enough._

_“You fear the sorrow. Take its hand, Jetii.”_

_Please._ Obi-Wan recoiled, shivering.  _Just standing this close is suffering enough._

_“I always will,”_ his mind offered up, the oath she'd given him.

On the strength of that promise of love, Obi-Wan reached out and caught the hand of his new inner companion.

It seared his palm, arched his back, wrenched another cry from his lips.

_“Pain is not the enemy, Obi-Wan.”_

Oh, but it sure as hell  _looked_ it now.

_“And Grief's intent is not to destroy you. It is difficult to bear her presence now, but if you allow her to clean the wounds of your soul, to keep them from festering, her presence will transform._

_“There will be a sweetness there in the end. Let her do as she must, and in the end, when you look back on your love, you will be able to treasure her laugh again without the pain taking you to your knees. Let Grief do her work. Bend, Obi-Wan. Bend instead of break.”  
_ He surrendered.

_Dear Force, it hurts. Everything hurts. My body, my heart, I cannot endure this long._

_“But you need not. Only the next five minutes.”_

Obi-Wan choked a laugh.  _Oh, this hell will last much longer than that._

_“But you can bear the next five minutes, can you not?”_

_I see what you're doing. You've grown stronger since the time in Ventress' dungeon._

_“The pain will not leave tonight. It his here to stay. It is time to accept your bedfellow and allow your body the compassion it needs since it cannot heal, and to offer your mind the same courtesy.”_

_I will not be able to sleep._

_“You do not need to. You simply need to relax your body, relax your mind, and allow the pain to be without fighting it any longer.”_

The voice had turned into Qui-Gon's again.

_Master. Give me courage._

_“Does it require bravery to stop clenching your big toe?”_

Obi-Wan found that to be a small enough task.

_“And the others?”  
_ Moving slowly, Obi-Wan eased the muscle strain. Some of them would bind up again later, but he breathed in, out— 

The muscles around his knees were more difficult than the others. He worked on them one at a time.

Once fully lax, he looked to his soul.

_Pain is not the enemy,_ he repeated.  _Be what you are. You are not the companions I would have chosen to endure hell with, but you are here to offer noise in this cell._

_Greetings._

_And good night._

A strange numbness, one he recognized, began to settle over the wretchedness of mind and body.

_“Yes. Rest. Implement a new part of the plan when you awake.”_

Obi-Wan allowed his eyelids to close over weary, aching eyes.

And there, hand-in-hand with the pain, sleep took him.

 

* * *

 

Bright light exploding through the room jolted Obi-Wan awake, squinting up to find the lights had been turned on.

Adrenaline pounded through his system, silencing his wounds for the moment.

He wasn't particularly surprised when the door slid open to reveal Savage.

The hunger in his eyes was one Obi-Wan recognized, he had seen it in Satine's face. The driving need to inflict damage and harm.

Satine had only aimed it once at him, and had kept her barrage to words alone.

They'd skinned him from the inside out.

At least Savage couldn't do  _that._

He stood, peering behind Savage, knowing that he could run.

_I won't get far._

So once again he accepted the urge and merely lifted his chin.

Savage moved forward, lifted him by the front of his tunics, then threw him out the door.

He slid across the glass floor to hit the railing protecting the walkway from the infinite fall in the center of the prison.

A light clink had Obi-Wan turning his head.

There stood Maul.

_Here it comes._

“Kenobi,” the Sith purred. “Did you sleep well?”

He did not reply.

Maul glided forward, reaching down to seize Obi-Wan's jaw in his hand. “Lose the smart tongue of yours, did you? Something I couldn't beat out of you could be torn loose?”  
“Frip you,” Obi-Wan somehow managed around the iron grip on his jaw.

Maul smiled. “Not as inventive as your previous insults. In fact, not particularly difficult at all. You're losing your edge.”

Obi-Wan searched for something to throw back at him—

_“He's baiting you. No matter what you come up with, he will pretend it does not hit the mark. He wants you to speak. He's trying to make you speak. So how do you bother him most?”_

_Silence._

Obi-Wan shut his mouth again, staring into those golden eyes with pained defiance.

“Muzzled,” Maul chuckled. “Well on your way to shattering. What was it you said in the throne room? That I could never destroy you? I will  _break_ you, Kenobi. Shatter you and make you lick up the shards.”

“Shall I beat him, brother?”  
“Did you bring what I told you to?”

“Yes?”

“Then we have everything we need.” Maul smiled again, this time sending fear through Obi-Wan's blood again. “We beat him severely last time, remember? I didn't do the trick. When something doesn't work the first time, you try something else, Savage.  _This_ is us trying something else.”

_Oh, dear Force—_

_“Expect the worst, and then prepare for something even more cruel than that.”_

He was trembling again, horrified without knowing why yet.

He wasn't expecting the black-gloved fist that knocked him out.

 

* * *

 

Something lightly tickled his cheek.

Eyes still closed, every bone in his body aching, Obi-Wan turned his head.

The brushing moved.

_“Brace.”_

Obi-Wan became aware of cold grating pressing into his back, arms—

_I'm not wearing clothes._

_“Would Maul know that you feel no shame in your body?”_

_Perhaps. I don't know how much he knows about Jedi._

_“In which one case did you never feel comfortable with nakedness?”_

_No. No, please._

_“Expect it, dear heart.”  
_ But he knew the voice was right. The part of him thinking the way she used to.

_You're right._

When he opened his eyes and found dead ones staring into his, twelve inches from his own, it broke his heart, but it didn't surprise him.

Nor did the clinch ties binding throat, arms, waist, legs to the ceiling of the low cage.

_Claustrophobia. The inability to escape her corpse. To sit up, to move much more than slight shifting of arms and feet._

_“How best can this be used?”_

Obi-Wan appraised, while keeping his gaze on the eyes, away from the naked body.

_To remove me from here after a few hours would be a misstep._

_“A misstep he is likely to make?”_

_Doubtful. He's been planning this a long time._

_“What would make this worse?”  
To keep me trapped here for days. Until the corpse decomposes and— and begins to drip down over my body._

He held still, the lock of hair that had awakened him still brushing his face.

The cage was too narrow to bring his hand up to brush it away.

_That too is well played._

_“How many tortures has he combined into one here?”  
At least three. Terribly efficient. Force. Why did he have to open her eyes again?_

_“You tell me.”  
Because he thought it would wreck me._

_“Is it working?”_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, aching against the cruelty.  _It might. I fear it will._

_“Fortunate, then, that the corpse is no longer Satine. That you granted the body its rites.”_

_She should be buried, in Mandalorian custom. Returned to Manda'yaim's embrace._

_“Her essence has. The impersonal body was the armor she did not choose. Something that did not reflect her soul. Even in the ground, it would be consumed by the creatures meant to give the nutrients back to the planet._

_“The worms would erase the woundings on this form anyway.”_

_True, perhaps, but I would not see it._

_“The bacteria will have lonely work, but it is natural, Ob'ika.”_

_It will destroy me. If I have to stay here and experience it, smell it, feel it dripping down on me—_

_“He is fighting well, then?”_

_He's going to win._

Obi-Wan opened his eyes again to stare into those empty, glasslike orbs.  _I'm sorry._

_He's going to win._

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Something tapped the side of his cage, making the whole thing sway.

Obi-Wan's fingers gripped into the wires as he realized it was suspended. His head snapped to the side to see what had collided with them—

He found himself staring into ice blue eyes, just a little higher than his own.

_ “Just a bit lower than eye-level, so they can see you without the corpse obscuring your expressions.” _

The man spit in Obi-Wan's face, and it reached his eyes before he managed to jolt his head back and blink.

Obi-Wan watched the man through his obscured vision, heart pounding as he realized the Throne Room was full of currently-silent Mandalorians, watching him.

There was a fire made in the crushed glass of the floor, and the painting of Satine, a gift from the first graduating class of Mandalore's first-ever art-focused university, hung torn and stained.

That meant the throne was the other way, but he didn't dare look away from the man trying to decide what to do to him to see if Maul sat on Satine's throne.

“You've seen what we do to those who shame Mandalore's good name. Who want to  _ castrate  _ Mandalore. Who are a  _ fripping disgrace _ to their blood. Who get in bed with Jedi. We could have had an Empire already. And  _ that thing, _ ” he pointed to Satine's body, “ _ had us by the gett'se.  _ Mandalore's not your bitch anymore,  _ jetii.  _ How does it  _ fripping feel,  _ loverboy?”

“You tell him, Saxon,” someone called.

He shoved the cage, making it sway wildly. Obi-Wan's fingers clung to the bars though he knew that if the whole thing fell,  _ holding on  _ wouldn't save him from colliding with the now-scored glass floor nearly six feet down.

Laughter and cheering roared through the room, a hundred voices.

The flames, the vicious anger and hunger in victory-drunk eyes—

Obi-Wan watched as the revelry began.

The last time he was caught by Mandalorians, he'd had Satine to rescue him.

Now she just stared down at him.

He turned his head away from the drinking that he knew would turn ugly fast, from the screaming that was simply a matter of demonstrating victory and both dealing with  _ and  _ amping up the adrenaline.

But here...

It might be worse.

Maul lounged on Satine's throne, a one boot braced on an armrest, leaning against the other one and watching Obi-Wan with a languid satisfaction.

Toying with the darksaber, the blade that killed the woman Obi-Wan loved more than life, in his hands.

Didn't take Obi-Wan long to look back to the killers who boasted of their murders and reenacted the looks of shock on their victims' faces and tried to outdo one another in descriptions of their deeds. The laughter grated against his ears, the blood that some of them had decorated their faces and armor with churned his gut.

They'd turned Satine's stronghold of hope into the raging heart of hell.

Bodies lay stacked in a corner. Obi-Wan tried to see them around the churning mass of the living.

Blue armor.

_ I understand. _

Maul had taken over Death Watch.  _ Probably through right of combat.  _ Vizsla's followers would have sworn allegiance to Maul in return.  _ But Maul is no Mandalorian. _

So there would have been loyalists.

_ So here we are. Back to Mandalorians killing Mandalorians. _

Music pounded through the room, wild and thick. Pounded through Obi-Wan's  _ head. _

He closed his eyes against the celebration, throat closing and grief flooding his soul.

“Will you weep again for me, Kenobi?” murmured Maul, close behind him now.

Obi-Wan refused to look at him.

“It was a beautiful thing to see.”  
Obi-Wan's gaze followed a woman as she moved to the stack of dead loyalists, a knife in her hand.

_ “Curved blade; good for skinning. Easier to follow the hide.” _

_ You're sounding too much like her now. _

He allowed no outward appearance of change as a helmet was pulled from a fallen Mandalorian's head, and the living one took her knife to the neck.

_ “Cannot cut through a vertebra with a knife, so you—” _

_Stop. I know. She'll twist the head to break the neck, then cut the connective tissue between two vertebrae while she keeps twisting until the head comes off._

Obi-Wan averted his gaze without turning his head.

He'd seen Satine do something similar to an animal when they were starving and close to freezing to death. Its neck had been as thick as her waist, and Obi-Wan at the time hadn't believed she'd be able to take it to pieces.

He'd learned of his mistake when he'd watched her, unable to look away, horrified by the fact that she used her  _ shoulder  _ and  _ head  _ through the process, holding on to a bloodied ear like a handle. She'd smelled of death for days afterwards, since they couldn't risk getting her hair wet to clean it.

They'd all slept huddled together to survive, the blood on her clothes haunting Obi-Wan's nose.

If it hadn't been for Satine's skill set, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon would have died that winter, the season colder than usual and killing off most of the natural food sources.

Still, he'd lost a part of his innocence there in the icy wastes, convinced he was going to die.

He couldn't hear the  _ snick  _ of bone. He did sense vicious glee, and it dragged his gaze back before he had a chance to deny the urge its fulfillment.

Head braced in the left arm, the right hand cutting away the last flesh—

And then it was free, and the new possessor tossed it to someone else.

He wasn't prepared for it, but he  _ was  _ braced for  _ something _ when the head came hurtling towards him and smashed into the side of his cage. The force of the throw dented the wires, and impact of the hit released gelled globs of what had once been blood to sit on his arm, chest—

They were cold.

Someone moved over, lifted the head by its auburn hair and pressed the face near Obi-Wan's, against the wire.

“ _ This _ ? Is  _ her  _ sister. Tried to rescue you. You tell me if it worked.”

Another set of dead Kryze eyes staring into his own.

And then they were wrenched away and cast amidst the dancing feet, soon inspiring a game all its own as each crushing kick left the skull just a bit more damaged.

_ If I wasn't in this cage, that might be my end. Unless the Sith thought of something better. _

_ Bone after bone giving way to metal boots. Battered until I was unrecognizable. _

_Would they take my head before or after I died from the injuries?_

_After._

_Wouldn't want me to miss some of it._

He closed his eyes, turning his head to face up again, just in case someone decided to take a sharp pointed object to his eyes.

The terror's edge faded in the face of wound-caused exhaustion and the terrible grief mingling with numbness.

How was it possible to feel nothing  _ and  _ an unbearable soul-ache at once?

 

* * *

 

He endured through the hours of revelry, where except for a few mocking words thrown his way, he was mostly forgotten. They had stories to tell. Alcohol to drink.

Remembering just how toxic Mando brews could be, Obi-Wan wasn't particularly surprised when at the end of the evening most of the revelers were passed out on the floor.

In the darkness falling across the room as the fire burned low, Obi-Wan could see the glint of Maul's eyes, watchful, tooka-like.

_ Does he ever sleep? _

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

_ “It will be days, Obi-Wan. A marathon, not a sprint. You've been too interactive these past several hours.” _

_I know. But it's too much. I cannot pull away._

_“You don't need to. You just need to relax every muscle, and your mind.”_

_I did that once._

_“You must again and again, or you will break before this is through._

_ “Bend _ ,  _ not shatter, remember.” _

_Qui-Gon, just take me home._

_I don't want to fight this fight._

_Just... enough. Maul wins. I'm broken. Can we be done now?_

_ “No, dear one. And you know it. Outlast him, darling. Find her. Go inside, and find her.”  
_ Obi-Wan tried to command his muscles, but they were loath to obey him, the wires pressing in so deep. Every part of him hurt, and the ache of being unable to adjust position was beginning to reach its difficult to tolerate point.

_ I've never been good at escaping into memories. _

_ My mind palace is not strong enough to hold out pain. It never has been. _

_“What other options do you have?”_

_Focusing on the infinite moment._

_“Can you endure another sixty seconds?”_

_Yes._

_“Count them, then.”_

And so, moment to moment, minute to minute, hour to hour...

Obi-Wan Kenobi endured.

 

* * *

 

At some point he must have fallen asleep because he awoke to something hot splashing across his face.

After his first shocked  _ disgust  _ as he figured out what was happening, he was left with  _ amazement  _ and disgust.

The man had to carry a  _ table  _ over so he could stand on it in order to have the height needed to ejaculate over the Jedi's face.

That took some real motivation at this early hour with the mother of all hangovers Obi-Wan sensed he possessed.

So  _ yes.  _ Obi-Wan felt just a little amazed.

But as the man wandered away, apparently content with his contribution to breaking the prisoner, Obi-Wan caught himself glaring after him with resentment in his heart.

It was hardly the first time someone had insulted him this way.

It was hardly the first time a  _ Mandalorian  _ had insulted him this way.

He would just have to resign himself to the stench since had no way to clean himself.

_Yes. That was a fripping kark-ridden thing to do,_ he acknowledged to the resentment. _No. I did not deserve it. Yes, I am suffering enough already. I know why Resentment is here. I know why Anger is here._ _But neither of you are going to help make this time_ easier _for me, so stay the frip in your places. If I chafe against this place, I will wear myself out before it is time._

_“That's her Jetii.”_

He looked up into vacant eyes.  _ For Mandalore. _

 

* * *

 

Time blurred into an eternity of hell.

He kept track of the days, but he couldn't tell you what terrible thing happened on which day.

There were moments when Savage would pull him from the cage to beat him again, keeping him injured enough it was difficult to find the Force.

Maul enjoyed shining bright lights on him at random intervals through the nights, breaking his sleep until even his waking moments felt surreal with exhaustion.

There came the moment a Mando took a knife to the bottoms of his feet through the wires.

He'd been so desperate to escape that he dragged he knees up as far as they could go, actually crashing them into the corpse above him.

He could not stifle his keening cries as the lines scored to the bone.

There was no sleep for him that night, the leftover pain too great.

The longest night of his life, each second stretching an eternity.

They left him alone for it, the only living creature in the great, dark hall.

Right before he stepped out the door, Maul took a thin knife and traced it up the corpse's discolored abdomen. Without a word he left, the great doors clanging shut.

_ “Darling.” _

_ I want to die. Please. Can you show me how to do  _ that _? _

Obi-Wan tried to see through the dark, see how much time he had before... before his beloved's guts fell on him.

_ “How many days has it been?”  
Five. Her skin is discolored. Her face distorted. I can smell the decay. My own body is failing due to my restricted movement. My muscles will atrophy and gather sores, and the broken bones have not been treated. And my feet... dear Force, let me pass out. Please. _

_Please._

_“Plot with me. Focus only on facts.”_

_ Too tired, too done. If Maul offered me death in exchange for kissing his feet, I would do it. I would do it without a shred of shame, so  _ shut up  _ and leave me. _

_“Is the plan a good one? Maul's tactics, are they strong?”  
Too strong. I cannot—_

_“Darling, this has all the drama of the old times. Do you know of what I speak?”_

_When Jedi were sacrificed in the most terrible of ways._

He'd looked up some of those ways as a youngling. Snuck into records on a dare. He and his friends had gathered around by glow-light and read horrifying reports detailing just what had been done... drawings of tortures the Sith had used to complete their rituals, dedicate their temples, or to simply expand their power by feeding from the Jedi's agony and despair.

It had taken them a solid week before any of them slept properly.

_Little did I know the next account added would be mine._

A laugh choked between his lips he envisioned his suffering turned to a black-and-white drawing, something younglings stared at with wide eyes.

_ “Dooku is very much a modern Sith, but this... in this, Maul fits with the arcane cruelty of three thousand years ago.” _

_How did any Jedi survive? Between the thousands of Sith and the thousands of Mandalorians, how were my kin not annihilated?_

_“The Sith burned bright, and burned out. The Mandalorians nearly wiped themselves out with their internal wars. Your kin outlasted. They endured. They suffered and looked to the future._

_“They never gave up hope. And when they did, they clung to their Light. That is why they are here. That is why they have survived every horrifying attempt at genocide. The persecution and wars and betrayals and disasters of every sort. That is why they are here to see the Sith return. That is why they are here to see the Mandalorians return to their destructive ways._

_“You are not the first to suffer for your beliefs.”_

_ Are they here with me?  _ Obi-Wan asked, and wondered if he might be feverish now.  _ Will they hold me up when I can no longer hold myself?  
Will they be there to catch me, when Maul's final strike severs life? _

The questions might be pointless, but as he allowed himself to ask them anyway, he found a tiny measure of calm again.

He did not lash out against the wires to beat himself bloody against them. He lay still.

He tried once more to reach to the Force, found himself once again thwarted.

_ “Warrior heart?”  
Don't... no. She used to call me that. _

_“There is something you haven't been looking at fully.”_

_She doesn't look like herself anymore. And I can't bear to see the flies crawling across her skin. It's bad enough to feel them against mine and be unable to chase them away._

_“It has to do with the flies. What are they doing?”_

A cry of despair escaped Obi-Wan, brittle and torn.  _ Laying eggs. _

_ “Just the corpse?” _

_No. My feet as well. Open wounds. Abundant food source for the maggots._

He gagged, the scent of death and the thought of the coming pain too much.

_ No more. _

_I can take no more._

_I am sorry. Forgive me, but..._

_No more._

But giving up didn't open the cage. He  _ felt  _ different, but it didn't release him from any of the pain. And when he realized it, the agony seemed to redouble.

He yelled, the reality of being truly, completely  _ trapped  _ becoming too much. He lashed out at the wires, struggling to tear them apart. He tried to bend them with the Force, break them—

He smashed himself against them as best as he could, and when he found nothing had been accomplished except wounding his hands and re-injuring feet, legs, and arms—

_How many times would I have to smash the back of my head into this grating in order to pass out, given the few centimeters I have to gain momentum? Calculate that, please, and be helpful, part-of-me-that-wants-to-keep-her-here?_

A low chuckle startled him, and in the dim murk he caught sight of a pair of almost glowing eyes. “The despair. The fear that you cannot endure a second longer. The craving for the pain to end, by any means necessary.”

_No. Not you too._

Maul stepped closer, his metal foot a light clink against the glass.

“Listen to your soul begging for mercy. What do you think of my revenge? You don't seem to be laughing anymore.”

Obi-Wan knew the Sith could see or sense his trembling, felt his desperation, probably smelled his blood.

“When will it be enough?” Obi-Wan rasped, fingers gripping the cage bars closest to Maul. “When will you end this? End me?” His voice sounded raw in his own ears, trembling, almost pleading.

It filled him with disgust.

Maul chuckled. “This is exquisite. I must savor this for a moment.”

“You win,” Obi-Wan choked out. “What more do you want from me?”

The eyes narrowed to slits. “I wandered for twelve years, insane and tormented. You think I would let you find escape after only  _days_ ? No, Jedi, you will  _feel_ what I felt.”

_“Darling.”_

_I have nothing left to fight with._

_It's over. Any chance for escape would have been back when I was being transferred._

_“You were unable to take those opportunities at the time.”_

_Because I was weak. And now I'm crippled. There will be no escape._

_“I never promised you escape.”_

_ You said you didn't promise  _ survival.  _ You all but promised me death. _

_“Survival can be of body or mind, dear heart. What I offer is not the path with the least torment, but the one where you do not betray yourself.”_

_I already have._

_“Have you?”_

_I all but begged for mercy._

_“Ah, but you haven't yet. Not aloud. And it will not count to him until you do. That is something you can deny him.”_

_It's not worth maggots crawling through my feet._

_“That is going to happen either way. Will he let you free under any circumstances?”_

_Perhap—_

_ “Darling.” _

_No. No. He revealed his intent. He wants to drive me mad. He's seeing cracks forming in my sanity. He would be a fool to release me now. With this being his foremost obsession for the moment... all else bows to it._

_“Is escaping this pain possible right now, then?”_

_No._

_“Is holding true to yourself still possible here?”  
Yes._

_“Then come up with a plan for that, Obi-Wan, and stop struggling to escape the other.”_

“Sleep well, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan could hear the smile in his tormentor's voice, and then the Sith left him there to be beaten again by his body and mind.

 

* * *

 

The first few minutes when the eggs first hatched, Obi-Wan could feel his mind splintering.

He'd never come so close to insanity in his life before, but it was right  _ there,  _ staring him in the face, hand on his cheek.

He fought it.

He lay there, still, since thrashing only caused more damage and did no good.

When the rotting tissue above him gave way to the scoring Maul had inflicted and intestine spilled over his stomach, a giddy laugh escaped him.

_ Continuous contact with something this necrotic— _

_Maul will lose me to disease long before his twelve years are paid for._

_Your need for a poetic revenge will steal it from you yet._

“Brother! The Jedi is laughing. Should I make him  _ stop _ ?”

“No.”

“He is  _ laughing.  _ He should be  _ weeping  _ and begging.”

“His mind is giving way,” Maul purred. “Beautiful, is it not?”  
Obi-Wan maneuvered his arm enough to be able to nudge the innards off his stomach. They were still trapped by the cage, but pressed up against his side was somehow almost less terrible than draped  _ over  _ him.

_ There will be more,  _ Obi-Wan ascertained as he peered in the direction of the torn-open stomach.  _ Between the decomposition and gravity. _

_ “And the eyes?”  
Could they fall out on me? I have never experienced a rotting body from this angle before. _

_“Since you do not have that information, assume they could so it is not unfathomable when it happens.”_

Obi-Wan smiled to himself.

Eight days.

Eight days in this tiny cage.

Obi-Wan stared off at the wall, allowing his eyelids to drift shut.

_ Even if help arrived right this second.... _

_It would be far too late._

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

As Anakin stepped foot into the throne room, he felt something terrible and twisted in the Force.

Obi-Wan was here.

Anakin didn't dare allow himself to wonder what the rest of it meant.

A cage hung before the throne, in it, two corpses.

No...

Just one corpse.

The other looked almost as decayed, but Anakin realized that was from the sloughing flesh that speckled the one below from the one above.

“Obi-Wan?”  
Neither corpse moved.

“Obi-Wan.”

Anakin moved closer.

It was impossible to tell who the dead individual had been. They were too far gone now, the stench so terrible that Anakin could  _ taste  _ it while breathing through his mouth.

He took his lightsaber to the chains holding the cage up, lowering it to the ground with the Force. He slit through the locks, cracking the thing open and Force-pushing the corpse away from Obi-Wan.

Blue eyes stared up into his, confused.

“I'm here to get you out,” Anakin choked, trying to be brave for him, trying to—

But it had been a month since Obi-Wan had disappeared, and when Anakin looked into those eyes, he wasn't sure this was the man he'd come to rescue.

“We have to get out of here before Maul gets back,” Anakin explained in apology as he gathered the broken body in his arms.

Obi-Wan shrieked in agony, and Anakin, tears blinding his eyes, couldn't blame him.

“We're going home. I swear.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin held his best friend close and raced for the ship, trusting to the clones and Ahsoka to cover his back.

They made it back to the  _ Negotiator _ .

Anakin strode through the halls, heading for medbay, 212 th troopers staring in horror at the burden he carried.

Cody staggered, gripping Rex's shoulder to keep from falling. Anakin's Captain clenched his fist, jaw set and eyes torn.

Footsteps pounded after him, and Ahsoka caught up to walk beside him. A gasp escaped her, but Anakin refused to slow his stride.

“Master... his feet.”

Anakin didn't have a chance to find out what she meant until he lowered the unconscious form to a bed.

It was movement that caught his eye, yanking his head around to look—

His stomach heaved and he stumbled away from the bed as Kix raced in.

“Are those... maggots?” Ahsoka whispered.

Anakin nodded. Somehow reached out to draw her into a corner with him to stay out of the medics' way.

“But— he's not  _ dead— _ ”

Anakin placed his hand on Ahsoka's shoulder, wanting to comfort her, but not sure he could with how broken he himself felt. “Couldn't keep the flies away. And flies don't care.”

Ahsoka's shoulder trembled beneath his hand.

“Hey.” Anakin pulled her into a hug. “He's going to be okay.”

“You're lying, I can sense the lie,” she sniffled.

_ There was something in his eyes. I think we've lost him, Ahsoka. _

Unable to speak, Anakin held his Padawan close and watched Kix's frantic efforts.

 

* * *

 

“A lot of the injuries were infected. Badly. We had to take his right big toe. I think we caught the rest in time. Not to prevent scarring, but to save his limbs, yes. I've already measured him for a cybernetic replacement. Until it's ready, he's going to have difficulty balancing and walking. Humans use their big toes more than we usually realize.”

Anakin gave a silent nod, wishing he felt more relief at the news. It was  _ good  _ news, it could have been so much worse—

_ But something is coming. _

He felt it to his bones.

“According to the deep scans, his brain is alright, but he has yet to speak, and Sir, to be perfectly frank, I don't like the look in his eyes.”

_ I know what you mean.  _ “Thank you, Kix.”  
The clone watched him for a moment, then nodded and gave him the room, clearly wanting to comfort him and not knowing how.

_ I fear we're far past that, Kix. _

It took several minutes before Anakin could gather the courage necessary to knock lightly on the door and step into Obi-Wan's recovery room.

He found Obi-Wan standing, staring out the window, clinging to the bedpost to keep from losing his balance.

Gone was the beard. His head, shaved. Hints of a jagged tattoo on his shoulder dripped beneath the sleeve. When Obi-Wan caught him looking at it, he pulled the sleeve lower and ducked his head, something defiant and recalcitrant in his eyes as his gaze dropped to the floor, as if he expected Anakin to berate him for his altered appearance.

“Hey.” Anakin's voice couldn't quite carry its own weight. Something within it broke in the middle.

Obi-Wan did not reply.

“Kix thinks the new toe will be ready soon.”

Still no answer. The eyes did not lift.

Anakin looked away, feeling uncomfortable with watching him when Obi-Wan wouldn't look at him in return.

“We didn't get Maul. He didn't seem to be there. There were signs of a struggle, but Death Watch wouldn't tell us anything.”  
Obi-Wan didn't so much as twitch.

“We'll get him, Obi-Wan. He'll pay for what he did.”  
Obi-Wan's gaze shifted to stare out the window again. “He already has. Is. Right this minute.”

“Who has him, Obi-Wan?”

“A mirror to my suffering has been found in his body, and what he loves most has been taken from him by a saber to the heart while he lay powerless to stop it.” Obi-Wan looked straight into his eyes as he added, “There is nothing you could do to him to avenge me more appropriately.”

Anakin's gaze faltered. “I wouldn't— I wasn't— why didn't whoever took him out save you too?”  
“He tried.”

Anakin waited, but Obi-Wan seemed disinclined to elaborate.

 

* * *

 

_ Obi-Wan could read the horror and disgust in Dooku's eyes. _

_He stepped closer, apparently unable to look away._

_He could sense his grand master's scorn for Maul's inelegant needs. “This is obscene.”_

_“Are you here as an angel of mercy, Master Dooku?”_

_ Obi-Wan didn't realize he'd used the old title, the _ wrong _ title until he saw the strange wince enter the elderly eyes. Something almost like regret. Compassion. Maybe just a little sorrow. _

_Obi-Wan began to suspect he was hallucinating._

_Dooku took the final steps forward, murmuring, “It appears that is my role here.”_

_The saber emitter that pressed between Obi-Wan's shoulder blades was cold, it made his heart thunder in his chest, knowing it would be burned and torn in two in a moment—_

_“Thank you,” Obi-Wan whispered._

_“Lord Tyranus. Mercy is not the Sith way.”_

_Obi-Wan watched in despair as dismay splashed across Dooku's face, swift followed by cold indifference. He drew his hilt away, turned to join a hunched, hooded figure: the man who'd spoken._

_The man who dragged a breaking, sobbing Maul out to use him as he saw fit._

_For a moment terrified golden eyes met Obi-Wan's._

 

* * *

 

“...Obi-Wan?”  
He looked up to find Anakin watching him with worried eyes.

“Well?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“You don't have a preference?” Anakin asked in disbelief.

_ I didn't hear you. _

“Okay. Okay. But I think you'd be better off if you went back to our rooms. I don't like you staying here alone in the Halls of Healing.”

Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure what it was Anakin wanted from him.

“Is that a yes? Okay. Ah— alright. Let's get you home.”

For a long moment Obi-Wan didn't move.

_ Oh. I can now. Somewhat. _

He wasn't entirely certain he  _ wouldn't  _ wake up in his cage again. He had little interest in raising his hopes only to have them mangled.

He followed him back to their rooms. Sat in the chair Anakin pulled forward. Stared at the kitchenette while Anakin cooked a meal.

_ What do I do now? What plan is there to survive  _ this _?  _ Obi-Wan asked.

Hellish amusement whispered through him.

_ I outlasted him. _

_So why am I still trapped? Why does none of this feel like it's real, like it matters?_

_I'm tired._

_I outlasted him, but I'm not sure I can outlast myself._

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the end.

 

 

“Is he going to get the beard back?”

“It doesn't look like it, Ahsoka.”

“...But he'll have whatever tattoo they inflicted on him removed, right?”

“I would hope so.”

“Why is he growing his hair out again?”

“I don't know.”

“I think it's a different color now. I mean, I don't really understand hair, but...”

“Yeah. He's dyed it brown.”

“Why?”

And Anakin could only watch his best friend from a distance and say one last time, “I don't know.”

 

* * *

 

He never left his hair down. He kept it back in a high tail.

There were new lines in the face that Anakin used to think he knew so well.

He never wished to speak to Anakin except for the exchange of necessary information, and that was only information Obi-Wan deemed necessary.

Anakin still had only the vaguest of ideas what had actually happened on Mandalore.

Nobody seemed to know.

Intel was not leaking out of Death Watch's net.

_ But... since Obi-Wan isn't trying to return to rescue her... I imagine the Duchess is dead. _

Standing on the deserted balcony overlooking the dojo, Anakin watched Obi-Wan practice katas.

To his shock he realized the ink Obi-Wan had come home with wasn't all he bore now. There was something  _ new  _ between his shoulder blades, and something over his heart on his chest. Anakin was too far away to see just what it was he'd chosen to add.

Anakin  _ could _ see the grid of scars left over from the cage's wires and the merciless glint of one toe where the feet escaped ragged practice pants.

Obi-Wan had been attending his minder appointments regularly. He was seeing someone outside the Order, a fairly common practice, but he never spoke of what happened in those sessions.

_ I have no idea if she thinks you're doing better, or if you're breaking, and you won't talk to me. _

_But I can't imagine that training in the middle of the night is a good sign._

Obi-Wan sank to his knees, pulling apart his lightsaber, retrieving the crystal.

He lifted a quarterstaff, his fingers dancing as he used the Force to hide the crystal within its heart.

_ What is he doing? _

Minutes later Obi-Wan stood, and then he continued his forms, using the staff.

When he left the dojo, he abandoned the scattered pieces of his lightsaber and never once looked back.

Anakin hurried down to the sand to gather them up, unwilling to see them thrown in the garbage.

Tears burned his eyes as he held them in his hands.

_ I'm not sure I know you anymore. _

Obi-Wan had kept the crystal bonded to his soul.  _ That's good,  _ Anakin thought, trying to breathe.  _ That means he feels its lovesong to him still applies. _

It would be difficult to find something more pure, something cleaner, something healthier than a kyber crystal.

_ But why would he house it in something that cannot also protect him? A staff is an alright weapon, but why something nonlethal when one could have a saber? _

_ I'm going to ask. _

Maybe Obi-Wan would refuse to speak again.

_ Maybe I don't know who he is now. _

_But I would like to learn. And I'm willing to be as patient as he needs for me to be in order to see that happen._

_I love you, Obi-Wan. Whoever you are now._

_I always will._

 

 


End file.
